


Child's Play

by DuschaPendragon



Series: Growing Up at The Dreadfort [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Human Hunting, Killing, Psycho Children, young!Myranda, young!Ramsay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuschaPendragon/pseuds/DuschaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay has been at the Dreadfort for a few weeks now and he has grown bored. When his father let's him leave the castle, he finds it is not as interesting without company. Then he comes across a little girl. An innocent. What a perfect hunt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child's Play

He had lived at the Dreadfort for weeks now, and the keep had begun to bore him. It had been fun until one of his father’s men had caught him terrorizing one of the servants until they were a quivering wreck. He’d been beaten for that; whipped until he was crying as much as the servant had. Ramsay had learnt not to do such a thing again. Well, at least not when father or one of his men were around. He’d tried to terrorize some of the cats that stalked through the castle too. They made for excellent hunts, and it was good to practise his flaying technique.   
Lately though, the Dreadfort had been a bit thin on the ground where cats were concerned and rats weren’t nearly as fun to hunt and flay; their size gave them an unfair advantage and he would eventually give up and come away frustrated that he had been outsmarted by vermin. What’s more, the servants had learnt to avoid him or linger around the grown men, so he didn’t even have them to keep him entertained.  
He’d explored every inch of the castle too. With his father so busy ruling and Ramsay considered too young to learn yet, he’d been left to his own devices. Despite common belief, Ramsay had been disappointed to discover that there was no room beneath the Dreadfort where the skins of his father’s enemies were kept. There were dungeons to explore, but very few had any inhabitants, and Ramsay wasn’t allowed to torment any of them! Even when he’d told the gaoler who he was, he’d waved a stick at him and growled “Beat it bastard!”  
_I’ll flay him one day. When I’m older and bigger, no one will dare to call me a bastard._  
There were the crypts too, but the dead were nowhere near as exciting as those you could make dead.   
Ramsay wasn’t completely alone. There were a group of boys, sons of men and women that worked at the Dreadfort, and Ramsay would sometimes play with them. That was always fun. None of them were afraid of getting hurt, well, not anymore. There had been a boy who scared easily, but he’d fallen from a tree. With a rope around his neck.  
Ramsay had had trouble explaining that accident to his father.  
But the others were fun, and they were just as willing to aggravate and inflict pain on others. But they had to earn their keep in order to continue living at the Dreadfort, so most days they helped their mothers and fathers work, unlike Ramsay who wasn’t yet old enough to assist his father. They couldn’t play during the day, so Ramsay was alone during daylight hours. In the morning his father had insisted he take lessons with the maester; basic lessons on how to read and write and the history of the great houses of Westeros. The history part was fun, but Ramsay had little regard for reading and sums. He’d taken lessons in how to fight too, but the master of arms had soon tired of trying to teach him to fight properly. Ramsay would be in the correct stance, holding the sword and shield in the perfect position. Then the master at arms would order him to start fighting and he became an animal. Ramsay didn’t understand. He’d gotten the sparring partner on the ground hadn’t he? He would have killed him too if he hadn’t been ordered to stop. Wasn’t that the point of fighting? Apparently not. Roose had called an end to the fighting lessons after he broke the arm of his sparring partner. And his nose…and a foot…and maybe a few fingers…

With his boredom reaching dangerous levels, Roose finally accepted that he would have to allow his son to wander further on his own. He allowed Ramsay to go beyond the castle walls without his friends. He was under strict rules not to torment the locals and to be back before night fell. When Ramsay had been summoned and told of his newfound freedom, he had been chomping at the bit; his ghost grey eyes shining with excitement.  
It had turned out to be something of a disappointment.  
His father’s rule about not terrorizing the locals wasn’t needed. Ramsay walked and walked and walked and still he found no one. He wished he had brought his bow and arrow so he could shoot some rabbits. He might have been forbidden from the practise yard and swordplay, but Ramsay was a natural hunter with the archery skills to prove it.  
With the thought of his bow and arrows in mind, Ramsay turned on the spot and began to head back to the castle to fetch them. He had not been walking long when he glimpsed something moving between the trees. Immediately, Ramsay crouched low and moved forwards in silence; hiding himself behind a tree so that he could get a better look.   
The girl was quite a bit younger than him, with long dark hair. Small of stature, slight of figure, she slipped through the trees without making the slightest sound. Ramsay scanned the forest around them, making sure there was no adult with her before beginning to shadow her every move. He slid through the trees with the stealth of a true hunter and grinned to himself as she continued on her merry way, completely oblivious of the danger nearby. In fact, when he stopped for a moment’s respite, he could hear her humming sweetly to herself. The sugary sweetness of feminine innocence made him feel sick and he began to move in for the kill.  
He might not kill her. He’d just torment her some until her begging grew boring, then he’d let her go and make her swear never to tell. But if she wasn’t entertaining enough, he’d show no mercy.  
_I’m going to be Lord of the Dreadfort one day. I can do what I want.  
_ He was so close that he could smell her. She must just be a peasant girl; he could smell dirt and sweat and what he was certain could only be the smell of dog. It didn’t deter him though. Ramsay moved closer, and let out a feral growl as he leapt out of the bushes, knocking the little girl to the ground. She screamed so wonderfully. “Listen here little bitch. I won’t kill you if you keep me entertained, so here’s what you’re going to do…”  
“Sara!” The girl screamed, apparently oblivious to the boy pinning her down.  
“Oi! Listen to me!” Ramsay snarled, slapping her.  
“Sara! Attack!” She screamed. Ramsay had only enough time to turn his head when the dog leapt from the bushes. The dog threw its whole weight into his side, and Ramsay found himself flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, the window knocked out of him. Gasping for air, he struggled to get up onto his elbows. He was only up for a moment when the dog was on him again; sharp teeth driving him down back onto the ground. He felt its hot breath on his face and his temper flared. With his bare hands, he grabbed the dog’s cheeks, twisting the flesh until it yelped. They wrestled together and it was hard to tell who was more of an animal, the dog or the boy. Ramsay got in a few good strikes and even sank his teeth into the animal’s neck once, but it was clear to see that he was being overpowered. The dog was stocky of build; solid muscle. Like the ones they had in the kennels.  
Realising he was losing the fight, Ramsay searched about frantically for the young girl. She was only a few yards away; glaring at Ramsay murderously. “Get this thing off me you insolent little bitch!” He screamed at her.  
“No.” She snarled, baring her pearly white teeth. Ramsay said nothing for a moment; shocked into silence. “I am Ramsay of House Bolton, son of Roose Bolton. Order this beast off of me at once and I might not have you flayed for your insolence!” He roared. At the name Bolton, her snarl faltered and she paled. “Here Sara, to me.” She ordered quietly, continuing to glare at him. The dog growled at him one last time before obeying her owner and returning to the little girl’s side; dark, hungry eyes still fixed on him. Ramsay inspected a bite-mark on his arm as he stood up.  
“Do you even know what insolent means?” The girl asked scathingly.  
“Yes.” Ramsay spat, though he did not move any closer on account of the dog still eyeing him as if he were a meal.  
“Fine. What does it mean?” She dared him with her gaze, crossing her scrawny arms and arching an eyebrow. Ramsay balled his hands into fists and trembled with rage. In truth, he had no idea what it meant. Perhaps the maester had mentioned it in passing. Or his father. It had sounded good and lordly anyway.  
“Do _you_ know what it means?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. The girl pursed her lips angrily but looked away. “No.” She spat.  
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re just a stupid girl. A stupid peasant girl who doesn’t know anything.” He grinned as the girl grew angry and stomped her foot.  
“I’m _not_ stupid!” She insisted, making Ramsay laughed. The laughter only spurred her rage on. “Do you want me to set Sara on you again?” Ramsay stopped laughing and pursed his own lips in irritation; eyeing the dog who bared its teeth at him.  
“You wouldn’t dare. I’m the son of _Lord_ Bolton and you’re just a peasant.” Ramsay stood a little taller. “And Sara is a stupid name for a dog!”  
“No it isn’t!” The girl cried, stamping her foot. “And I’m not a peasant! I live at the Dreadfort too!”  
Ramsay frowned. “Liar!”  
“I’m not! My father is the kennelmaster. And you’d better not lay a hand on me because my father is a loyal servant to Lord Bolton and he’ll be very angry if any harm comes to me.” The girl whined.  
“Liar, liar, skirts on fire.” Ramsay hissed.  
“Fuck you!” The little girl screamed.   
“You can’t curse at me!”  
“Fuck you and your stupid lordly fucking arse.” She smiled proudly at her cursing abilities.  
“Yeah well fuck you right back you stupid cunting bitch!” Ramsay smirked as her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. “And you have to be lying because I’ve never seen you before, and I live there too.”  
“You’re too busy chasing cats.” She giggled.  
“And skinning them.” His smile turned sadistic, but the girl wasn’t cowed by it. She even took a step forward; eyes widening in fascination. “Really?” She gasped.  
“Yep. I catch them and then I flay them.” He beamed. Her eyes widened in wonder and she smiled; twisting a lock of hair around her finger absent-mindedly. “Could you show me how to do that?”  
“No.”  
“Why not?” She snapped, her hand falling away from her hair.  
“Because I don’t hunt with stupid girls.” He grinned again as her heels pummelled the cold earth.  
“I’m _not_ stupid! I’ve trained Sara to attack silly boys and to be loyal to me and only me. Even father can’t control her.” She put her hands on her hips, smiling smugly.  
Ramsay couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by her, and a little jealous. If he had a pet it would make his time alone a lot less boring. And it would be all his. He could do whatever he liked with it!  
He wasn’t about to admit his desires to this stupid girl though.  
“She still has a stupid name though.” He muttered, kicking at a patch of dirt.  
“It’s not stupid. It’s my mother’s name, and she’s a…she’s a bitch!” The girl’s cheeks flushed and Ramsay couldn’t help but grin at her brazenness.  
“Anyway, what are you doing out here? Everyone says you aren’t supposed to be out on your own, because you’re the heir.” Ramsay swelled with pride at that and felt a lot older. Hardly anyone called him the heir. More often than not, he was referred to as ‘the bastard’.  
“I proved to my father that I am capable of going out on my own.” He announced proudly.  
“Oh, well my father lets me out all the time. In fact, I only ever see him at meal times.”   
“You shouldn’t be out here. What are you, four?”  
“No! I’m six!” She argued, slamming her heal down again.  
“Well I’m older than you. I’m eight, and my name day will have come and gone after the next full moon.” He sneered.  
“Yeah well so will mine!” She whined. Ramsay rolled his eyes, growing weary of her childishness. He’d come out here to hunt, not to talk to little girls.  
“I’m going now.” He announced.  
“Fine.” He gave her and the dog a wide berth, balling his hands into fists. Had he just given in to a little girl?  
After a while, he realised she wasn’t finished with him. She had followed him as he made his way home. He turned on her, his face thunderous. “Stop following!” He growled at her.  
“I’m just going home.” She insisted. Ramsay looked down and picked up a rock he spotted at the side of the path. “Stop following me! I don’t want to be seen with a stupid girl!”  
“Throw that at me and I’ll have Sara attack you again.” She grinned. Ramsay glared at her, but was well aware of the hound’s hungry gaze and the deep growl that rolled towards him like thunder.  
“Fine.” He seethed, speaking through gritted teeth. “But you stay behind me alright? So it doesn’t look like we’re together.” The girl smiled and nodded.  
“I’m Myranda.” She piped up when he turned his back. He said nothing, simply rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath. Myranda seemed to have the common sense not to talk any more, thank the gods, but her presence alone was still enough to annoy him.  
_When I’m older, I’ll make her shut up. I can get rid of her altogether if I so wish._  
The thought pleased him, and he returned to the Dreadfort, plotting all the things he would do to her. When he was older.   


End file.
